Shattered

Prologue

Deep down, in the dark pits of hell, fire blazed in a shadowy palace. The fire was small, not enough to burn down the dark kingdom, but it was bright enough to make someone squint.

       The fire spread and shaped itself. It grew into a figure, the shape of a human, about the size of a high school boy. Then, the fire dimmed, and disappeared, turning into a shadow. From the shadow, emerged a boy. He was the exact size of the shadow; tall and thin. His eyes were deep purple, a violet blooming in a garden, graceful in the breeze, but dim with pain and fear. The teenager brushed his black bangs away from the sorrowful violets, and stretched out his wings, which were the same purple: dark and mournful. He felt the top of his head, and his hand brushed against some horns. Sharp.

       Like the fangs in his mouth.

       The teen slowly made his way through the brooding castle made of dark obsidian. The walls were lined with photos of ghouls and monsters, screaming in terror. The boy looked down as he walked, his feet pressing softly against a crimson carpet, which led to a throne. The throne. The throne of Death himself; the Devil.

       The teen stopped exactly where his instincts told him to, and he kneeled, ready for whatever torment and pain he was about to feel. He could feel Death's smirk burning through his skull, the agonizing stare holding him in place.

       "Stand, Vladimir," the Devil growled.

       Vlad slowly rose to his feet, and looked up at the monster. His once cruel smile was now a small frown, one of disappointment and anger.

       "You have disappointed me..." the Devil continued, rising from his seat and striding to Vlad, a fiery whip in one hand. Vlad looked down again, trembling. Death grabbed a handful of Vlad's sweatshirt and pulled him close. His talons ripped through Vlad's shirt, and scraped into the teen's skin. Vlad held in his cries of pain.

       He was completely aware that he deserved every single drop of this suffering. He was a total screw-up in hell. He failed every single one Death's tests. He was a disappointment. A failure.

       "I have given you training. One test. One chance. And you have failed," the Devil hissed in Vlad's ear, his icy hands gripping tighter onto Vlad, "What do you have to say about this."

       "I... I want..."

       "WRONG," the Devil growled, shoving Vlad away and whipping him once. Twice.

       A burning pain went into Vlad's chest and he couldn't help but scream in pain. The Devil rumbled with laughter, then purred, "Are you enjoying this, Vladimir? Do you want more?"

       Vlad shook his head, his demon wings folding in place, red tears brimming his eyes.

       "Then show me," the Devil gnarled, "That you are a demon, and not some weak, soft mortal thirsting for attention."

       "O... okay..." Vlad choked.

       "More respect!" Death snapped, whipping Vlad once more. Vlad cried out, dropping to his knees. "Stand, Vladimir. No rest!" Vlad rose to his feet, an angry sob in the back of his throat. "Please..." he whispered.

       "What's that? Speak up, boy, I can't hear you!"

       "I'll do anything," Vlad said, a little louder, "Anything to prove that I am worthy of your team."

       The Devil tilted his head, an amused smile forming onto his lips. "Anything, Vladimir," he said, then laughed cruelly, "You are my weakest. You have failed my tests! What possibly could you do to prove that-" the Devil stopped and frowned. Then, he smiled, mischievously, an idea forming in his head.